


Hit the Road

by SylvanFreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Badass Ellen, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, The Roadhouse, damn straight I said badass Ellen, whumptober discard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26793607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanFreckles/pseuds/SylvanFreckles
Summary: (set between 2.03 and 2.05) During a stopover at the Roadhouse, Sam runs into trouble with a group of hunters with a score to settle. Things don't go that smoothly for them, though...nobody picks a fight at Harvelle's and gets away with it.(Discarded Whumptober 2020 entry)
Relationships: Ellen Harvelle & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Hit the Road

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for day three of Whumptober, but it just didn't seem to fit the whump theme. I couldn't throw it out, though, I loved it too much. So I'm posting it separately!
> 
> It takes place in early season two, so after they meet Gordon but before the case with Jo.

The metallic sound of a bottlecap hitting the scarred wood of the bar pulled Sam out of his thoughts. He glanced up in time to see Ellen set a bottle in front of him.

“I'm fine,” he protested.

“Drink.”

“Ellen...”

“That wasn't a request,” the older woman's voice rose, blocking out Sam's protest. “I don't know what's got you and your brother all twisted up, but if you're in my bar you drink. Then you talk.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder and let out a sigh. The Roadhouse was pretty much empty at this time of day, just Sam at the bar and Dean at one of the pool tables knocking the balls around idly.

“What are you two fighting about, anyway?”

“We're not fighting,” Sam replied. Too quickly, he realized, when he turned back to see a knowing look in Ellen's dark eyes. “It's stupid,” he amended.

“Well, family feels that way sometimes,” Ellen agreed. She'd found a glass somewhere and was polishing it with a rag. “Come on, sweetie. What's going on?”

Sam let out a sigh and took a long sip from the beer Ellen had given him. He wasn't sure how much he could tell, so much of their stupid fight was tied up with his psychic powers. Dean still thought it was dangerous, of course, but sometimes his brother just pigheadedly believed anything not endorsed by the John Winchester Standard was dangerous.

“Sam?” Ellen prompted. He realized he'd been silent for too long, just staring at the bottle in his hands.

“Do you ever...do you wish you could know when something bad was gonna happen?”

Ellen set the glass down and rested both hands on the bar, arms out diagonally. “Of course.”

He blinked up at her. “You do?”

“Everyone does,” Ellen shrugged. “Can't think of a hunter worth his salt who wouldn't wish he'd known when a monster was gonna attack.”

“Yeah, but what if it wasn't like that?” Sam abandoned his bottle to lean further onto the counter. “What if...what if it wasn't something obvious? If you just got glimpses now and then, and you couldn't always figure out if you were seeing something real or not?”

“Is there something you want to tell me, Sam?” Ellen asked seriously. A group of four or five men that had just come in the door burst out into raucous laughter and Sam pulled away.

“It's fine,” he said. They needed to keep the psychic thing under wraps anyway. “Just...just stupid brother stuff.”

Ellen gave him a long, hard look and Sam immediately felt like she'd seen right through him. “Lemme know if you change your mind, kiddo.”

He nodded his thanks and watched Ellen move to the other end of the bar to serve the men who had just walked in. He wasn't as comfortable in the Roadhouse as Dean was. Sure, there was something to be said for being around other hunters, but with how frequent his visions were coming lately Sam really preferred to stay among civilians whenever possible. Rumors could spread, and while Bobby and Ellen could vouch for Sam all day long he knew there were other hunters that would just see him as another monster.

“Well, hey there, kid!” One of the men had sidled up to him and slapped a grizzled hand on Sam's shoulder. “This ain't a day for long faces. Lemme buy you a drink.”

“I'm good, thanks,” Sam gestured toward the man with his beer. “Maybe next time?”

“Aw, don't be like that,” the older man chided. He scooted in close to wrap an arm around Sam's shoulders, tugging Sam up against his side. “My friends and I just want to talk!”

Sam looked up to catch Ellen's eye. She was watching them, buffing invisible fingerprints off another glass. “If the kid doesn't want to drink with you, just leave him alone, Clive,” she called.

“Well, see, that ain't fair,” Clive protested. There was the faint _click_ of a blade opening and before Sam could react the point of a knife was against his side. “See, me and the boys want to talk to little Winchester, here. We got a few things we wanna ask him.”

“Now hold on, Clive,” Ellen began.

“No, you hold on, Ms Harvelle.” Clive's friends were gathering around them, four other men all ready for a fight with weapons either in hand or visible on their hips. “We got no quarrel with you.”

“You start something in my bar, you start it with me,” Ellen replied. She was leaning on the bar, and Sam was sure she was reaching for a panic button or something underneath it. Maybe it would alert Ash to what was going on, though he wasn't sure what Ash could do. Jo was on a supply run, and Dean was the only other person in the bar at the moment.

“I don't think so,” one of the other men snarled. He had a gun out, a big .357 revolver. He stalked around the bar to shove it in Ellen's face, his other hand tangling in her hair to yank her closer.

“Nope,” Clive said, almost conversationally. “Either Nicky there blasts Ms Harvelle's face clean off, or I gut you, Winchester. Let's just all calm down and discuss this civilly.”

Behind Sam, someone slid the safety off of their gun. He swallowed. “Look, whatever you're doing, it's me you want. Leave Ellen out of this.”

“Sam...”

“Quiet!” Clive barked. “Now see here, Sammy has a whole lot of sense. If we could...just...” his voice slowly trailed off, and when Sam risked a glance at his captor he saw that Clive's face had gone pale.

“I'm the only one who calls him Sammy.”

“Dean,” Sam breathed out in relief.

“Dean,” Clive echoed. The older man swallowed, his companions staring between him and Nicky as though trying to decide who to support. “Was wondering when you'd join the fun.”

“Yeah?” Dean's voice had a dark edge to it. “How about you let Sam and Ellen go, and you and I can have all the fun we want.”

“Wouldn't try it!” Nicky shouted. He still had his gun pressed under Ellen's chin and was dragging her out from behind the bar. “Not unless you want mama-bear here to have a few new holes.”

Sam took advantage of the silence after Nicky's statement to make his own plea. “Look, whatever you want, it's between you and me, right? So let's...let's just go, we can leave Dean and Ellen here.”

“No way, Sammy.”

“Shut up, Dean!” he snapped back, trying to twist around to see his brother but Clive's knife was still pressed to his side. “Just us. Please?”

Clive hesitated, clearly thinking over Sam's suggestion. Nicky was just rounding the end of the bar, Ellen still pressed to his body. She seemed to stumble against the bar, and just for a split second Nicky's gun moved a fraction of an inch away from her throat.

It was enough. Ellen slammed her weight back into her captor, wrenching his gun hand up and away in the same smooth motion. Nicky gave a shout of surprise and the gun went off, the blast loud enough to startle the rest of the group. Clive swore in Sam's ear but the younger Winchester was already moving. He'd been seated on one of the stools, so he planted his toes on the bar's front and kicked back to throw his own weight into Clive's smaller frame. There was a burst of burning pain in his side as the knife bit into his skin, but he was out of the other man's grip and stumbling to his feet behind Dean before Clive could fully react.

The older Winchester was glaring down at Clive, fury burning in his eyes, the gun in his hand steady. Sam didn't have a chance to try to talk his brother down, as one of Clive's friends was already charging. Dean turned to meet the man, letting the other hunter catch him around the middle. Dean planted his feet, staying upright despite being forced back a few steps, and brought the grip of his pistol down on the back of the man's head.

Clive was back up, swearing, bloodied knife held at the ready. “Didn't want to do this, kid,” he panted.

“Yeah?” Sam pulled his shaking hand away from his side, grimacing at the red smear. “Coulda fooled me.”

Clive charged. Sam managed to twist out of the way but the older hunter swiped at him with the knife, catching the edge of his sleeve. The heavy canvas of his jacket turned away most of the blade, but enough got through to nick the skin of his forearm. Sam didn't have anything on him—the Roadhouse was supposed to be _safe—_ but he managed to snag an empty beer bottle from a nearby table.

The older man actually laughed. “Gonna smash me over the head?” he snarled. “Best way to end up with a handful of broken glass.” Of course Sam knew that. This wasn't his first bar fight. Besides, glass bottles didn't break that easily, and they could be a useful weapon if you knew how to handle them.

Back at the bar, Ellen had retreated toward the kitchen and managed to grab a broom before Nicky and another one of Clive's goons got close to her again. She laid into them as soon as they were within her weapon's reach, and if Sam had been able to pay attention he would have marveled at the fluidity of her movements. Obviously Ellen had studied staff fighting at some point.

Dean seemed to be having the easiest time of all, as his first opponent was down for the count and the second seemed reluctant to get within range. The older Winchester had holstered his gun in favor of simply beating the other man with whatever he could lay his hands on. Chairs, a glass half-full of whiskey, an old spittoon that Sam prayed was empty...Dean could fight with just as much grace and finesse as Ellen but it had been a rough couple days and he was having _fun_.

Clive charged again. Sam feinted away from the blade, then stepped back as Clive swung for him like he had before. He used his momentum to catch Clive by the elbow and slam the beer bottle against his wrist. It didn't shatter—he didn't want it to shatter—but it was enough to make Clive yelp and drop the knife. Sam spun Clive around and pulled his arm through another twisting maneuver, bending it up behind his back and forcing him down onto a nearby table, pinned helpless beneath the younger Winchester's weight.

There was a satisfying _crack_ from the bar and Sam saw Nicky go down with a hand clutching at his bloody nose. Then it was just Ellen with her one opponent, and Dean with his victim.

“All right,” Ellen snapped, stepping into the last thug's face to grab his collar and yank him down to her level. “What the hell are you fellas doing here? In my bar?”

The man spluttered helplessly. “We just...we just...Clive said that Winchester kid was special.”

“'Course he's special,” Ellen snapped. “You're messing with my boys, Cliff. That don't bode well for you.”

Cliff was blubbering out apologies now, as the rest of his friends started to pick themselves off the floor. Dean set down the pool cue he'd picked up with a regretful sigh, letting the man he'd been beating limp off to join the others.

“Sam?” Ellen called. She'd walked Cliff around the bar, hand still twisted in his collar. “Let Clive up now. He and his friends are going to walk out and never come back.”

Sam hesitated. It was Ellen's call, of course, but he wasn't sure they should just let these guys go. If there was any chance Clive knew about the psychic kids....

“Now, Sam!”

With a guilty start Sam released Clive and took a few steps back for good measure. His side was really starting to burn now and he pressed one hand down over the wound. Clive slowly picked himself up, rubbing his shoulder and glaring at the younger Winchester.

“This isn't over, Sammy,” Clive threatened.

“It will be if you don't get your ass out of my bar!” Ellen yelled. “I know every hunter in the state, Clive Hodgins, and if anything happens to these boys you're gonna be first on my list!”

Clive winced and scuttled over to the others. They were huddled back together; a miserable, beaten bunch, supporting the one Dean had knocked out at the beginning of the fight. Almost as one, they limped toward the door to the Roadhouse, and Sam hurried to Dean's side to get as far away from the men as possible.

The crack of wood at the bar had the boys whipping their heads around at the same time. Ellen had slammed the broom down on the counter and was glaring at them. “Sam, sit,” she ordered, pointing to a stool. “Dean, there's a first-aid kit in the kitchen. We're gonna treat your brother's wounds, and then you're gonna talk your problems out like adults.”

The brothers stared at her for a moment. Sam felt his face flush, and when he cast a sidelong look at Dean he saw that his brother had a sheepish expression on his face.

Ellen banged down a bottle of high-grade whiskey on the bar. “Move it, boys!”


End file.
